Triptych 1: Deus Vult
by Lackwit
Summary: Three scenes from Robin's life during the five years preceding S1. Although pre-series, consider everything to be S1 canon.
1. Scene A

**Credits/Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine, etc. except for Sir Jerval and Akil. Sadly (for the series and the legend) RH belongs to Tiger Aspect and the BBC.

**A/N**: A _triptych_ (pronounced "trip-tick," from the Greek tri- "three" + ptyché "fold") is a work of art (usually a panel painting) which is divided into three sections, or three carved panels which are hinged together. The central panel is the most important one, and this is flanked on either side by two lesser but related paintings (excerpt from Wikipedia).

I hope the above explains the story layout. :)

I really enjoyed researching this story and I hope you enjoy reading it! As far as possible I have fit the series timeline into the historical one but have left some difficult areas (e.g. Robin's first couple years in the Holy Land) deliberately vague. Pretend poor Robin and Much are hopping between the Christian cities and somehow avoiding the horrific battles, starvation, and pestilence that occurred at the time. Oh, and all the Saracens too.

"Deus Vult": _God wills it_. The rallying cry for the First Crusade.

**----------Scene A----------**

"About time, Marian! Mind the brambles, they're fierce today."

The dark-haired girl grimaced at the slender youth sprawled at his ease on the fallen tree. Smoothing back curls ruffled by her run across the fields, she nudged his boots until he swung his legs down. She settled beside him, careful to keep him between herself and the bristly bush, and sighed. "I am sorry, Robin, but it is very busy up at the castle. It is no easy task overseeing a hall full of self-centered, demanding knights more fixed on eating and posturing than showing some consideration to their host. Between their demands and his duties as sheriff my father is tired. I shall be glad when his guests leave next week to return to the continent."

"But such entertaining weeks they have been," Robin drawled. "I have never before had such good competition in feats of arms. And did you not hear Sir Jerval's tales about his deeds as the captain of Prince Richard's personal guard? Such adventures he has had."

"Nursemaiding quarrels between kings and princes," Marian murmured. "Ooh, yes, how utterly thrilling."

"And his sword! It has a splinter of the True Cross in the pommel!"

"Really?" Marian widened her eyes in mock awe. "Pity our poor Lord, forced to bear a cross so great that it could provide all the splinters carried by pious knights."

"Tut tut, such a cynic for one so young and fair, Marian. You shock me!" Robin scolded with a grin, his eyes alight with the deviltry that he knew could never fail to make her laugh just as much as it could infuriate her. Today she laughed and Robin paused to admire the sunlight glinting in her hair and the dark sweep of her eyelashes against her cheek. Catching his eye, Marian blushed a little but coolly raised a questioning brow.

Practical but passionate – that was the intriguing mix that was Marian. She was naturally inclined to seriousness and Robin delighted in disrupting his betrothed's self-possession and provoking her into following her heart more than her head, for when stirred by what she cared for she was fire. Still –

He sighed inwardly. He knew himself to be an open book where she was concerned – likely everyone from Nottingham to London knew where Robin of Locksley's fancy had forever lain – but despite all their years of friendship and affection there were still times when he wondered as to his true place in her heart. For all her passionate outbursts, for all the heat with which they argued, she did not seem to burn for _him_. He had been the one to openly, eagerly pursue; the one to urge his father to approach hers as soon as she had turned twelve; the one to cajole her into a future together. To be sure she was almost as susceptible to his charm as other girls, and was fond of him and content with the match, but he _wondered_.

_At least she likes me_, he consoled himself. _She holds men in general in such contempt. I will miss her while I am gone_. He nudged her shoulder with his. "Come, Marian, your guests haven't really been so bad, have they? They are brave men in a brave cause."

"Fools," she replied flatly, all amusement gone from her young face. "Each has promised enormous sums to King Henry to buy favors for himself and his men, money better spent on keeping those at home safe and fed."

"You are so against those who urge us to defend the Holy Lands?" Robin asked, surprised at her vehemence.

"Oh, Robin," she answered, "that is not it. I do not think it an _unworthy_ cause. It is merely that I do not see why they choose to go when there is as much if not more need here at home." She bit her lip. "It is so much money that some of them have promised; their families will feel it for years."

Robin frowned. The conversation was not going the way he desired. "Troubling rumors come from there. The Saracens seem to be growing restless and even Jerusalem may be at risk. Better to stop it now before they get a strong foothold. Think of it, Marian. The Holy Lands! To push back the infidels from the place where our Lord lived…"

"And where _good_ Christians are pleased to die so they may earn a quick entry to heaven without otherwise working for it," Marian snapped back. "One can worship just as devoutly at home."

Robin laughed. "Well, I am not so good a Christian then since I have no mind to die out there, not when I have dear ones waiting for me. And you would wait, wouldn't you, Marian?" he wheedled, sure of his answer.

Marian rolled her eyes. "'Tis a pointless subject; let us not argue about this. Why did you ask to meet this afternoon, Robin? We would see each other at supper as usual anyway since you are so in thrall with Sir Jerval's spoutings. And I truly am very busy today." Her lips curved in a small but unexpectedly intimate smile and she leaned toward him so that her breath warmed his lips. "After all there is the little matter of our wedding in one month's time."

Robin's eyes half-closed and his lips parted as he too leaned forward. His Marian was not so free with her kisses that he ever turned down those opportunities she allowed – but reason returned and with a grimace he pulled back.

"We'll get back to this – but first that is exactly why I wanted to see you. Well, everything we've been talking about, really."

Marian blinked. "Robin, you are making absolutely no sense."

Robin wriggled around on the tree trunk until he faced her. His face was earnest as he caught up her hands and twined his fingers with hers.

"I know my timing is not so good, but, please, hear me out. You are right; I have been enjoying listening to Sir Jerval. And in turn he has been most impressed with my skills. We have spoken a great deal about how he has need of a good right hand man and he thinks that I show great promise. Have you not wondered why he is here with knights bound for the Holy Land, instead of with Prince Richard?"

Robin paused but Marian only looked at him. He frowned a little at the faintly unnatural fixedness of her gaze but continued, "Sir Jerval says the prince has heard rumblings that a crusade may be called. Richard is also eager to go to the Holy Lands but – well, you know how he and King Henry are. But he has given Sir Jerval leave to go ahead and prepare for when Richard himself can join.

"Sir Jerval is willing to take me with his retinue so that I do not have to pay the usual moneys to the king to join. When the time comes I need only take the cross under Sir Jerval and I will be a crusader, as part of the prince's guard!" He grinned at her. "Isn't it splendid? I know it is little warning, Marian, but this is too fine an opportunity to deny myself. And this is why I had to see you, since I do not know how much time I will have free in this last week before I must go with him."

Marian stared at him blankly, her hands limp in his.

He frowned and bent to peer into her eyes, squeezing her hands gently. "Hello? Surely I haven't bored you to sleep?"

"Are you jilting me, then?" she mumbled at last, her gaze still unfocused.

"Of course not!" Robin cried, offended. "I am only telling you that we must wait, though not for long – I cannot imagine it should take us more than a year or two, perhaps three at most, to roust the infidels and save Jerusalem, for they are surely not as well-organized as we and have not so great a stake. Once it is done I shall come back to you with honor and settle down at Locksley. That is not asking for so much, is it?" he cajoled, raising a hand to stroke her cheek. He frowned when Marian jerked back, keeping her face averted. "What?"

"Better you _were_ just jilting me," she muttered.

"What?" Robin frowned in confusion.

"Do you ever think before leaping into the next flight of fancy that captures you? Think about who else is affected? You have a duty to your – your people. A manor does not run itself." Marian stumbled up and stepped back from where he sat. She swayed a little as she turned away.

Robin leaped up as well. "Unfair, Marian! You know I have worked hard and done a good job with Locksley this past year since my father died. My home is in fine shape to leave with Thornton until my return, especially since your father will keep an eye on it as well. Truly, I have thought hard on this and have it all well in hand." Robin threw back his arms, looking pleased with himself. "Really, Marian, what is wrong with my plan?"

"A plan, is it? That? I would not even call it half a plan. You've been _planning_ this all the weeks those knights have been here, haven't you? Without telling me. Just like that, all so easy to arrange."

At last she turned to face him and he looked into her pale face – so white that her eyes burned like blue ice.

"Now, Marian, I did not tell you until now because I didn't think I had to," Robin said, raising his hands in a placating way. "You have always understood me so well – that is, once you get over being angry at me."

"You? Think? _I_ think you do not know the meaning of the word."

"What? It is an honor to be even given the chance to defend the Holy Lands."

"Robin, men _die_ fighting in the Holy Lands! Many, many good men, many good soldiers. You are hardly a seasoned warrior like Sir Jerval."

Robin smirked at her. "Marian, you wound me. I am quite good with a bow, you know, and not so bad with a sword, either."

"You conceited fool!" She slammed her hands on his chest and pushed with all her might. Paying him no further heed she turned and fled.

"Marian, wait – owww!" Arms flailing, Robin tripped over the tree trunk and tumbled back into the bramble bush. "Yeowww!"

Robin cursed as he struggled free. Swearing, he examined his scratches quickly before catching up his bow and quiver from where they lay and racing in pursuit of Marian's rapidly receding figure. She ran well but was no match for him and he easily caught her as she ran up a small grassy hillock. Grasping her arm he swung her around. "What was that for?" he shouted.

Marian jerked free. "To let out some of the hot air in you!" She leaned toward him, her fists clenched at her sides. "Do you think me idiot enough to believe your pious bleatings about a higher purpose?"

"I am not lying!" Robin snapped back, stung by her words.

"But not telling the whole either. Truth, Robin!"

"Very well, then, I also admit that being master of Locksley does not challenge me enough. A man must do more. I do not wish to be a placid old goat before my time!" he muttered angrily. "Is that so wrong?"

"The most foolish goats are seldom the old ones, I find," Marian retorted. "How can you even think of abandoning your life here for something so uncertain?"

"Because my life is dull and I am bored, with nothing to look forward to save more boring days overseeing Locksley!" he shouted back. Immediately appalled at his unthinking words, he clamped his jaw shut.

"Ah, so you confess at last." Her dark hair tangled about her flushed face, her body quivering with suppressed fury, Marian had never looked finer to Robin. For a reckless moment he considered telling her so but prudently refrained. "And how long have you been brooding on this, m'Lord Earl of Huntingdon? How long until you would have told me how dull you thought the prospect of life at Locksley with me? You did not have to scuttle off to war to avoid that disastrous fate."

"I did not mean that! Do not put words into my mouth." Robin clutched his hair and took a deep breath. Intemperate words were inevitable in an argument with Marian but this situation was spiraling dangerously out of his control. He paced in thought for several moments, and then in a softer voice he said, "All right, Marian – then let us get married before I leave. If we hurry and get everything arranged we can be wed before I must depart in seven days' time. I will have you moved to Locksley and make sure Thornton is comfortable with you in charge – he'd do anything for you anyway – then I will turn the keys over to your keeping, and still be ready in plenty of time to leave with Sir Jerval. That would work very well indeed – you run the castle excellently and a manor such as Locksley will be as nothing to you, particularly as your father would be happy to advise you." He smiled and held out his hands. "Well?"

Marian stared at him. Slowly, she shook her head as she began to laugh.

Robin grinned in return as he sidled up to her. "Now, how about that kiss you were about to give me?"

"You really don't understand anything," Marian gasped. She squeezed her eyes shut and Robin was startled to see the tears sparkling on her lashes when she reopened them. "You do not _want _to understand. All you see is what you want – the dazzling visions of kings and popes and stupid _boys_. Go, then, and may you get exactly what you desire."

She again punched him on the chest and with a startled gasp he tripped over his feet and tumbled down the hillock. "Not – ow!" he yelped as an errant thorn from his earlier tussle with the bramble bush pricked him.

Marian ran toward the castle. Robin rolled over and gloomily watched her disappear in the distance. With a sigh he sat up and stared at the sky.

"Marian has a tender heart," he informed the clouds as he pulled the thorn from his pants. "And she does not stay angry or hold grudges – well, not that long in any case. She will come about because she does like me and thinks me a little more worthwhile than most other men, and she knows I will always come back to her. I had best give her a little time and then she will see the sense in my plan." He scowled. "Half a plan, huh!" His face grew thoughtful and he scratched his chin. "She never did answer my question about the wedding, though. I will have to see Sir Edward to arrange things, I suppose." He sighed again and rose. "Must tell Much to start packing, too."


	2. Scene B

**----------Scene B----------**

"Master, it is really very strange. I am so hungry – oh, to sink my teeth into a juicy bit of ham– but the thought of eating makes me want to retch."

"Hush, Much – be easy." Robin laid a comforting hand on Much's neck. He glanced outside into the spreading twilight as others of the king's guard moved about the camp. Torchlight sprang up, masking the grimness beyond in shadows. Robin's own stomach heaved at the memory of the day's carnage but the way his manservant's thin frame quivered worried him – Much was on the verge of collapse. He needed to report to the king soon but he could not leave his friend in this state. "You should not have gone back to the battlefield. You were lucky to have come back before nightfall and before the human vultures came out."

Much continued to tremble as he sat on his pallet, as if he were still out in the battlefield and not in the relative safety of their tent. His eyes were wide as he stared at his master.

"But you ordered us to bring back all the wounded we could before nightfall."

"Not you, Much!" Robin replied, exasperated. "I expected you to stay here and help care for the wounded as they came in, as you usually do."

Much blinked and gazed vaguely about him. "You looked and sounded so fierce. I did not even think not to obey."

Robin bit his lip. He shied from thinking of both the savagery he had met and that he had countered with. The Holy Lands had stripped him of much of his illusions about himself.

On the one hand, he had discovered depths that pleased him.

On the other hand, he had discovered _depths_ that frightened him.

"Just rest a while, Much," he said more gently. "It has been a hard day."

"It has been a horrible day!" his friend shuddered. "This was worse than the usual skirmish. So many dead."

Robin shrugged as he tugged at the neck of his surcoat and mail in a futile attempt to catch a non-existent breeze. He grimaced at the stench of the soiled wool. "Saladin is determined that we do not breach the walls of Acre. He has bought their garrison many extra days with such tactics." He peered to the east where the huge Saracen army lay cloaked in the deepening night. "Negotiations are not going well and Richard is determined to break the siege. I doubt this was the last assault Saladin will send our way."

Much coughed and wiped his nose. "Now that Saladin has taken the True Cross we could have used another holy relic to aid our cause."

Robin scoffed and handed him a waterskin. "Well, that isn't an option, thanks to Sir Jerval." He leaned against a tent pole and gazed at the sky.

Much gratefully sipped the warm water from the skin. He swallowed hard and coughed and shuddered again. However, Robin was heartened to see something of Much's normal spirits in his outraged glare.

"A cat bone!" Much spat. "I could not believe that such a fine knight as Sir Jerval had had the gall to fake a splinter of the True Cross with a cat bone. I mean, the Cross wasn't even _made_ of bone, cat or otherwise."

Robin rolled his eyes and grimaced. Sir Jerval had died of fever during their winter in Cyprus, only weeks after reuniting with Richard. More than seven months later he still found it difficult to forgive the man for the lie. His anger was not so much over the loss of the relic– he had not entirely believed in it – ­but for the revelation of what could best be described as his naïveté. With a sarcastic laugh he said, "Speak no ill of the dead, but perhaps Sir Jerval thought it less dishonest if he used something other than wood."

"His squire did not think so. His master was barely cold in the ground before he was falling over himself to confess. We would never have known if he hadn't told." Much shook his head. "Deceitful! I do not mean that Sir Jerval was such a horrible man – because he wasn't – but – deceitful! I am glad that you did not accept his sword."

Robin scowled. "I do not want to be known as the Crusader who defended the Holy Land by the grace of the True Cat Bone."

"That does not sound very heroic," Much agreed. "Do not fear, Master. Not that I wish to feed your vanity but you have done admirably taking over for Sir Jerval. The men look to you as their true captain despite your youth."

"I am not vain!"

"Indeed? Don't I remember you mentioning your elevation in the letter you promptly sent to Lady Marian?"

"No! Besides, I will have you know that I wrote the letter to Sir Edward. The Sheriff would have been interested in being informed of what a son of the shire has accomplished."

"Hah!" Much scoffed. "You just wanted to look modest; you knew he would pass the letter to his daughter anyway. Really!"

"Well, I am glad to see that you are feeling normal again," Robin muttered. He sighed and rested his head against his fist. "Edward is taking his time answering."

"Master, what did you expect when you refused to wait for the royal courier? The little lad to whom you gave the letter was headed for his family's home somewhere near Angoulême. Who knows who he gave the letter to next or where it has wandered." Much waved his hands. "Perhaps it is even on its way back to Cyprus."

Robin glared at him but forbore to answer.

Much took another sip of stale water and stoppered the skin. He looked at Robin. "This adventure is not quite what I had thought it would be, Master," he confessed. "It is hot, and dusty, and everyone here hates us even when they aren't trying to kill us and are even on the same side. I mean, the French – oh, the French and their King Philip! I thought we were here to defend the Holy Lands. But despite our armies Jerusalem has fallen and is not likely to be easily won back. I do not mean to criticize – although it sounds like it and perhaps I do a little – but the kings disagree so much. About money, about power, about women, about who has insulted whom – just about everything. The sun may be shining directly overhead but Richard and Philip will not even agree if it is noon or midnight!"

"There is more scheming than I had expected," Robin agreed grimly. "Perhaps I should be thanking Sir Jerval for opening my eyes to the truth that a smile means nothing. There are many good and honest men with us but one must learn to read a man's heart." He sighed again. "And only God can truly do so."

"Well, I can ignore the French but the English anger me. One does not have to lie to his brothers in arms, especially those he has convinced to abandon everything!" Much declared hotly. "One does not have to sell his honor for – for a cat bone!"

Despite himself Robin smiled. "You are absolutely correct about the choices we make, my friend. I promise you the next time a cat – which will undoubtedly be full of bones – crosses my path I will run in the opposite direction."

"You are pleased to mock me but it is good advice you should try thinking over," Much insisted, waving the waterskin vigorously.

Robin laughed softly, shaking his head, and the two men lapsed into a comfortable silence as they looked out at the camp. Short, meaningless clips of conversation drifted to them, along with the aroma of roasting meat. The men would welcome the rare treat but Robin screwed up his face at the smell – at times he still found it challenging to eat roasted meats after a battle.

"It was terrible out there," Much said softly, echoing his thoughts.

"They fight well. And fiercely." Robin murmured as he peered into the gloom. A cooling breeze finally eddied through the tent and he took a deep breath, grateful that the wind did not come from the direction of the recent battle grounds.

"As do you." Much nodded and continued with a tinge of pride in his voice, "The men are always talking about how King Richard admires your skill, about how few can match you in battle, and lay bets about how many you can –"

"Enough, Much." Robin closed his eyes and fought to keep his voice low.

Much gulped and changed the subject. "Yes, well… ah, it is no wonder the Saracens fight well. Heathens."

"This is their home." Grateful to avoid the other matter Robin lifted a shoulder. "I have spoken with some of the local peoples as we traveled through the cities. Did you know they consider this their Holy Lands as well? Both sides are willing to shed so much blood. I cannot help thinking this is a terrible way to treat the land of our Lord."

"You think too much, Master."

Robin smiled ruefully and rubbed the back of his head. "I think too much, I don't think at all. You are hard to please."

Much fidgeted and sighed. "We are going to be stuck here for a while, aren't we?" he asked in a low voice. "We will not be back in England by spring."

The misery in the other man's voice stung Robin. "Yes, by spring, I promise," he said rashly.

"You do not know that, do you?"

Robin looked at his companion before turning his gaze to the ground.

Much swallowed and nodded jerkily. "Just as long as we see England again, Master."

"We _will_," Robin swore. He moved to Much's side and gripped his shoulder. "Trust me, Much – I will get us both back to England safely when this is over. And we shall hold a feast and you shall have beef and pork and whatever else you desire until your belly hurts."

"Oh, do not mention that!" Much moaned. "Every night I see barons of beef and cutlets and mutton chops dancing through my dreams – but not goat. Never goat. I have had enough of those nasty beasts here." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "In my dreams the tables groan beneath all the dishes at a truly huge feast, held at the castle when you are married to the Lady Marian."

Robin rummaged about his pallet while he got his voice under control. Much's artless words scraped against old regrets. Private regrets. Still, it was past time for the other man to know. In a careless voice he said, "There will be no wedding waiting for me."

Much gaped at him. "The – the betrothal was dissolved? But Sir Edward hasn't even sent a letter."

"Sir Edward was not pleased with me that last week." Robin grimaced at the memory of that surprisingly painful meeting with his betrothed's father. "He would not agree to my marrying Marian before I left and would not agree to letting the betrothal stand, thus forcing Marian to wait for a man who might never come back. He said he would fail in his duty as her father. In short, Edward tossed me out."

"Master!" Much yelped. "You knew since before we left? And didn't tell me?"

"I did not particularly wish to talk about it with anyone."

"For four years?" Much fumed, but suddenly calmed and stared at his master. "Oh. That – that's just as long as you were betrothed."

Robin rolled his eyes at Much in exasperation. "Coincidence."

"Are you sure that Edward meant it? He was very pleased with the match."

Robin shrugged. "I spoke to Edward one last time the day before we left and was left in no doubt. And –" He shrugged again.

"But what did my lady think?"

"Not sure." Robin remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke he could not hide the resentment that still pricked him. "But Edward dotes on his daughter and would do what she wants. Marian would not speak in private with me after I told her I was leaving. I was still invited to supper with the knights but I would see her only briefly, and then she would be so very polite and would immediately engage someone else in dull conversation." He scowled. "That woman. She could at least have seen me off. She even gave her ring to her father to return. Thornton is keeping it safe somewhere."

Much scratched his ear. "Well, in all fairness my lady had a right to be angry with you. You did not consult with her before you decided. Women like to be asked even if you pay them no mind."

"Whose side are you on? And what do you know of women?"

"I am a fair man, Master," Much stated primly, "and a wise one that knows that women like all the things we do not do."

Robin rolled his eyes. "Bah, anyway it was for the best. I am free now! Cyprus in particular was most enjoyable. The ladies there were pleasing to the eye and they liked and admired me." He gave his friend a smug smile.

Much blinked at him. "But then why –" He stopped and clamped his mouth shut.

"What?"

"Ah – well…"

"Go on," Robin urged with a laugh. "You make me curious."

Much sighed. "I do not sleep so well of late and I sit up, to think of things. It is very quiet and rather peaceful, as long as there aren't people dying in the next tent over." He stopped to fidget, and then with another nervous glance continued, "In the past month, ever since we joined the siege, you have begun to… ah, speak in your sleep."

Robin felt himself redden and hoped fervently that Much would not notice. He remembered his dreams with perfect clarity. "I have not! Anyway, even if I do I am surely just repeating idle talk I have had with Richard."

"Each time you only ever say the same name and it is not that of our king, Master. I would hope not, sighed as it is in _such_ a voice that I must blush…"

"Much!"

"Well, you asked! And you do! I have excellent hearing and it is not hard to remember, since I have heard it every night for so many nights and –"

"You've made your point, Much!" Robin snapped. "And for your information 'tis just out of old habit." He snatched up his sword and belted it on.

"New behavior for an old habit," Much said skeptically. He cringed beneath the glare Robin threw his way and hurriedly added, "Anyway, I have changed my mind. I cannot believe my lady has been so cruel and not written a letter of forgiveness, which would be a gentlemanly thing to do, even though she isn't a gentleman. I must confess that I am very disappointed in Lady Marian. She was not kind – and she is usually such a kind lady. I am _very_ disappointed."

"Glad you have finally seen the right, Much." Robin swept him a mock bow before he checked his weapons and walked out of the tent. "Get some sleep. I do not think the Saracens will send out anyone else this night and perhaps we shall all have a restful time. And on that happy note, 'tis time for me to attend the king."

**----------End Scene B----------**


	3. Scene C

**Note**: I had Robin and Much landing in Sandwich because that is where Richard landed in 1194, before he headed to attack Nottingham Castle and take it back from John.

**----------Scene C----------**

"Well, you kept your promise, Robin. Sort of. We did return to England in time for spring, if not quite the exact way I was thinking of. Ah, spring! I can even smell the greenness."

"See? Trust me, Much!"

"You almost did not keep the one about both of us returning safely, you know."

"Ah, but I knew you were the one person I could rely on to make sure of it, my friend." Robin regarded his manservant with affection. "Thank you."

Much blushed and sputtered, but preened a little. "Yes, well… it would have been horrible if we did not both see these shores again." He dropped to his knees and hugged himself. "Oh, forgive me for ever leaving!" He patted the grass. "And thank you, thank you, for not pitching and churning and bowling me about."

"The crossing from Calais to Sandwich was as smooth as you please." Robin laughed before he returned to their belongings piled on the ground. Opening bags he began rummaging through the contents. "Much, did you keep everything we have ever owned these past five years? Why did you bring it all back?"

"It took a lot of effort to find many of those things, I will have you know! I wasn't just going to waste it all."

"Well, we cannot take all these back with us to Locksley. With so many knights crossing from here there are no good horses to be had for a reasonable price so start sorting, Much, and keep only what you and I can comfortably carry."

"Master, not that!" Much squealed as he lunged for the shabby shirt knotted from multicolored yarns that Robin had just pulled from a pack. He clutched it protectively to his chest.

"Much, that is in awful shape." Robin eyed it dubiously.

Much tugged the disreputable garment over his head. "It traveled with us to the Holy Land and back. It would be nearly blas – blasphemy to abandon it now. Besides, I need it for warmth." He patted the shirt affectionately.

Robin cocked a disbelieving eyebrow but returned to his rummaging. Periodically he paused to catch his breath. He had fully recovered from the injury and subsequent festering of the wound that had cut short his service in the king's guard, but the long days in bed had sapped his strength and he was still painfully thin.

"Oh." Much pawed through a large leather bag. "You will want to decide about these." He pulled out a folded garment that he solemnly handed to Robin.

Robin took the surcoat. The red cross was faded, the white wool dulled with a grey-yellow hue. He fingered the neat stitching halfway down the left side that almost disguised the jagged rent with the faint brown stains.

Much glanced between the surcoat and his master's expression. "I brought your mail too. And mine. The king may have sent you home to recover but he made it clear that he would welcome you back – indeed, that he rather expected you to return. I wasn't sure if you – we – would still need them."

"Do you recall, Much, the wagering by the soldiers on what my tally of the enemy would be in each battle?" Robin's face was drawn. "Easy money for those with faith in my ability. Such a _heady_ reputation as archer and swordsman I had – renowned and feted amongst worthy comrades, so quickly.

"And then one day I watched you scrubbing the blood out of my surcoat yet again and suddenly I could match each drop to the face of the Saracen who had yielded it. Just another mark beside my name, another coin clinking into a clutched fist that might lie open and cold the next day."

Slowly but firmly Robin shook his head. "No. Pope Gregory's war may go on but mine is ended. I have told the king I will not be returning to the Holy Land." He handed the surcoat back to Much.

"The mail is costly," Much protested as he pulled out his own surcoat and armor.

"So it is," Robin agreed lightly. He looked about the busy port city and then nodded at the shabby little church that stood further down the street. "Give them all to the priest and tell him it is a gift."

"We could sell them to another crusader and get enough money to buy supplies and even horses." Much hesitated and then added, "Particularly if it is known they belonged to the hero of Acre."

Robin shot Much a look that silenced him. "No. Give them anonymously to the priest. Leave their fate to God."

Much nodded and pushed the clothing back into their bags. Hefting the laden bags over his shoulders, he trotted toward the church. Robin watched him until he entered, then returned to examining the contents of the packs. He had almost finished sorting the items when Much came hurrying back.

"The priest could barely thank you, he was sniffing back so many tears," Much said, panting. He shook his head. "It is a mean little place. The knights going to the Holy Land are not overly generous and the ones coming back hasten on to Canterbury and do not stop here unless they have already died on the crossing."

"Hardly surprising."

"Oh, the priest says he will gladly take what we have, even rags. The poor can find some use for them. I think even the priest himself will find uses."

Robin nodded. "We will leave these with him before we go."

The two repacked what was to be taken with them, pausing at times to argue over the disposition of selected things. Robin won almost all the disputes with the simple expedient of a firm "No, Much".

Finally they were finished. Looking at the discarded pile Much made a face. "That's almost all of it! I should have just dumped my packs in Calais." Angrily he kicked at the pile.

Robin gave an apologetic shrug as he tied off his own small pack. "Sorry, Much, but we simply cannot carry so much by ourselves. I didn't think it would be quite so difficult to find horses. Richard's army has cleaned this city out. Perhaps we will have more luck further north."

"Speaking of King Richard – will you join his guard once more when he returns?" Much stopped his tirade and gave his master a troubled look. "He favors you and trusts you. Will you leave for Aquitaine with him?"

Robin smiled and shook his head again. "I am looking forward to nothing more than to return to my own small corner of England, and to my even smaller Locksley, where I shall settle down to being a placid old goat." He laughed.

"No goats," Much said firmly and then grinned. "Locksley it is!"

"I do not understand your aversion to goat. It was better than starved old horse that the armies were lucky to eat at times." Robin sobered and frowned. "I thank God it is not like that here. Still, I've been a neglectful master to my people. The Holy Land is in our past now."

"I for one am happy never to see it again," Much declared forcefully. "It is a savage land."

"No, not a savage land. It is ancient, patient as time, waiting for us to purge our madness." Robin sighed. "Until the next time it all starts up again."

Much scowled. "The things you pick up! I wonder you don't wear robes and turbans such as those of the dervishes we saw in Cyprus."

"Why, Much! I would have thought you would be the first to insist that I am not one with any sort of foresight, and that I am certainly not a wise man." Robin laughed, and then squatted beside his sword and bow. He patted them before picking them up. "My memories and these are more than enough for me."

Much nodded at the sword. "You did not make friends accepting that when you rejected Sir Jerval's."

Robin strapped on the sword, his hand lingering on the ivory hilt. "As one of the captains of the garrison at Acre Akil may have been my enemy but he was a good man, who always treated us with courtesy when we parleyed. He honored me with his last request." His jaw tightened. "I wish I could have spoken up for Akil with Richard, or at least been there for him at the end." He shouldered his bow and quiver.

"No, you do not!" Much cried out. He trembled as he struggled to control his voice. "I am _glad_ that you were so ill and that I had to care for you so that I was not there either. Just from what I heard – it was _revolting_, Master. Richard was unstoppable and the others were no better. They wanted blood – even more than had already been spilled – and to be quit of Acre as soon as possible. Richard wouldn't wait for Saladin to complete the deal. The taking of the city – all those poor prisoners– it… it…"

Robin nodded wearily. "Stop thinking of it, Much. I have heard the taking of a city under siege is brutal. I have no stomach for such."

"I just want to go home," Much whispered. He picked up his pack.

Robin clasped him about the neck and gave him a gentle shake. "Come, my friend, let's drop off this stuff with your friend the priest. There should be plenty to help dry his eyes!"

They escaped the church and the grateful priest as quickly as they could and started along the road westward. Robin listened indulgently as Much chattered about his plans now that he would be master of his own holding.

"When I get my Bonchurch I shall hold a feast," Much stated happily. "Of course, not just for myself. I shall make hot spiced wine and invite everyone who wishes to come and raise a cup. Of course, it will be nothing like the feast you will have upon your return, Master. Cakes, and roasts, and plenty of fresh brown ale. The grandest affair Nottinghamshire will have seen in many years. Oh, my belly aches already at the thought. And everyone shall dance all night while I shall sleep with my toes toasting before the fire. A true English fire!"

Robin tugged his cloak higher up his shoulders. An English spring was chilly compared to the heat of the Holy Land. "A fine celebration we shall have but I doubt it will the most memorable of the shire," he replied in a thoughtful voice. "Such a special and joyous occasion has surely happened long since in Nottingham, at the castle."

"Ah." Much grimaced. "That was not quite what I meant but since we are on that subject – as you said, the past is over and done with. You have done quite enough gallivanting outside England and amongst the ladies. Locksley needs a mistress and you need a wife, for goodness knows I will not always be there to keep you out of trouble. You must think about finding a pleasant, _understanding_ young lady with whom to have many children who will drive you mad."

"Pleasant and understanding, is it?" Robin smiled faintly at Much. "Come, let us pick up the pace. It will take us several weeks to reach Locksley."

As he walked along the road, now only absently attending to Much's meandering commentary, Robin did not betray how his thoughts lingered over Much's advice. There were some things he did not share with someone as fiercely protective as his former manservant.

All during his convalescence, once his mind had cleared, he had had little to do but think. The years in the Holy Land had torn him apart and at first the thoughts of the man who had lain on his pallet in the stifling tent had been almost those of a stranger, scattered fragments that had not described the whole. He had spent long days and nights piecing himself together and pondering the outcome. He had been pleased to find that he had not been as changed as he had feared, and that the darkness unearthed did not control him unless he let it. By the time they had left the Holy Land he had known with certainty who Robin of Locksley was and what he believed. And what he wanted.

He glanced at the trees above him and considered yet again the niggling hope that had been hardened in those hours of delirium and contemplation. He had had never allowed himself to acknowledge that hope outside his dreams but in his weakness he had found and clung to it. Ever since it had tantalized him despite himself, and now back in England he found himself smiling in mingled self-mockery and anticipation.

The chance of that hope coming true was very small – practically non-existent– and indeed had likely been dashed years ago by that described celebration at the castle.

But…

Winning long odds was hardly new to him; his chances of surviving his injury in the Holy Land had not been particularly good either.

Everyone in Nottingham had known Robin to be a light-hearted lad – what they had tended to forget was what a very stubborn one he was as well and in that the past five years had not changed him.

He never gave up.

Even if all he had to work with was little more than half a plan.

**Fin.**


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